


Cut The Sugar

by peachclub



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, Asphyxiation, M/M, Masturbation, Pining, Post-Time Skip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-10-13 16:06:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20585234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachclub/pseuds/peachclub
Summary: Claude hates routines. He hates when things stay the same, leaving him in a constant loop, life becoming more mundane than ever. He tries to keep his life interesting, but he appreciates it more when others keep it interesting for him.





	Cut The Sugar

Claude hates routines. He hates when things stay the same, leaving him in a constant loop, life becoming more mundane than ever. He tries to keep his life interesting, but he appreciates it more when others keep it interesting for him. 

The glint in Sylvain’s eye is visible from across the dining hall. Claude sets his fork down, sitting up straight, lifting an eyebrow. Sylvain slides into the seat beside him, their thighs touching. He leans in close, puffing hot breath against Claude’s ear. “I need your help with something.” 

“I’m listening,” Claude replies, anticipation burning in his belly. 

Sylvain places a hand on Claude’s thigh for leverage. Claude shifts, turning toward him slightly. He grabs Claude’s hand, shoving something into his palm. “I need you to mix this into a potion for me.” 

Claude stares down at the herb in his hand. He knows exactly what it is the second he lays his eyes on it. “Do you know what this is?” It worries him slightly, to think of what Sylvain could possibly need such a strong aphrodisiac for. “I’m not sure I want to make a potion with this.” 

“I’m not going to use it on someone, if that’s what you’re thinking. You know I’m not like that.” 

Their foreheads are practically touching at this point. Claude can’t imagine what others are thinking, seeing them like this. He sighs, “Fine. But if I find out you’re using it for anything dangerous, I will actually kick your ass.” 

Sylvain pulls back, smiling, hair falling in his eyes. “Thanks! I knew I could count on you, Claude.” He leans forward again, lips brushing Claude’s cheek so fast, he would have missed it if he blinked. “See you!” 

Claude snickers, wiping the wet kiss mark from his cheek and shoving the herb into his pocket. His hand tingles from where it was touching. He doesn’t even know how Sylvain would have acquired such a thing. He has his ways, he figures, just as Claude does. He’s known him for too long to question it anymore. 

He heads to his room, ignoring the way his hand continues to pulse. Even handling it is dangerous. He needs to get it out of his pocket as soon as possible. The sun is setting, copper rays sinking in through Claude’s clothes. 

He tosses the herb onto his desk, his thigh itching from where it was sitting in his pocket. He slips out of his pants, a rash visible on his skin. He huffs, scratching it until it’s a blazing red. His palm burns. He should have said no. He grabs the wine bottle hidden under his bed, popping it open. 

The wine numbs the feeling in his thigh, and distracts him enough to ignore it. He reaches up, touching his cheek, where Sylvain’s lips brushed earlier. He scratches at his stubble, needing to shave. He gulps down more wine, throwing himself on his bed. Wine spills onto his bedsheets. He runs his fingers over the stain, wet and deep red, sinking into his fingertips. 

The sun’s rays slip through the cracks in his curtains, shining brightly into his eyes. He squeezes his eyes shut, warm red and orange flashing behind his eyelids. The colors shift, twisting, until Claude sees a bright smile among the colors. His eyes fly open and he sits up, sloshing the wine in the bottle and huffing. 

He stumbles over books to the window, pulling the curtains shut properly. His head is beginning to feel pleasantly fuzzy. He sits on his bed, leaning against the wall, breathing in deeply. He can hear doors opening and closing in the corridor. He tries to guess who’s retreating to their rooms for the night. 

The next one is Felix, certainly. Claude can hear him in the next room over, groaning. He mentally curses how thin the dormitory walls are. He can hear Dimitri next, deep voice speaking to someone across the hall. The knock on his own door snaps him out of his daze. 

He stands on wobbly knees, wine bottle still in hand. He unlocks the door and it flies open with intense force, a mess of red flashing in front of him. 

“Whoa—hey. Oh. Hell yeah.” 

Claude stares at Sylvain, his vision blurred at the edges, a soft glow surrounding him. Wow. That’s not fair. 

“Sylvain? What are you doing?” Claude slurs, stumbling back to his bed, where he’s most comfortable, and certain that he won’t fall over. 

“Should I take my pants off, too? Just to be polite?” 

Claude stares down at himself. Right. It’s too late to be modest now, he figures. Seeing Sylvain with his pants off is absolutely the last thing he wants right now. “Keep yours on,” he grumbles, staring down at the rash on his thigh. He scratches at it again, hyper-fixated on the sight. 

“Where’d you get that wine? Don’t hog it.” Sylvain snatches the wine from Claude’s hand, half on top of him on the bed. “Oh, and I came because I was being chased.” Some things never change. He takes a swig of wine, making himself at home beside Claude. “What’s with the rash?” 

Claude snickers, “The herb you brought me. Do you not have a rash?” 

“No?” 

Claude glances down at his palm, red and bumpy. “Huh.” He grabs Sylvain’s hand, observing it, running his fingers over his skin. “Guess you don’t.” 

Sylvain chuckles, “Your face is all red. Did you drink all of this yourself?” Claude nods, in a bit of a daze. “Geez. You’re a mess.” 

Claude stares, and he stares _hard _at Sylvain’s face. His cheeks, always dusted with a light blush. His lips, stained wine red. Claude wants to kiss the color from his mouth, smear it all over his own. He wants to lick the sweetness right off of his tongue. He watches intently as Sylvain finishes off the wine bottle, leaning forward and bending over to put it on the ground. 

Claude is pretty sure he can’t properly form words, but he tries. “Sylvain. Why do you need that potion if you can bed literally anyone? Unless it’s for yourself?” 

Sylvain shrugs and leans back, the wine settling. His cheeks gain more color by the second. “I know I always tell you, Claude, but this time, I’m going to have to keep the secret to myself.” 

“Fool,” Claude mumbles. “I’m getting a rash from it. You should tell me.” 

Sylvain leans closer, chuckling. “Not a chance, pal.” 

Claude finds himself face-to-face with Sylvain. “I deserve to know,” he weakly says. He’s starting to get pretty dizzy. 

Sylvain curls a hand around the back of his neck, their lips sliding together sloppily. Claude moans, tasting the sweetness. He’s like sugar, like berries, like everything Claude could have imagined and _more_. Sylvain’s so warm, pressing in close to him, sliding his free hand up the inside of Claude’s thigh. That’s dangerous territory. Claude’s head is practically spinning with desire. He wants more. 

Sylvain’s hand stops at his briefs. Claude can feel his warmth so close to where he wants it, heat radiating straight to his dick. It’s too much. Claude is two seconds from embarrassing himself. Sylvain twists a hand in his hair and Claude moans pathetically. 

It snaps them both back. Claude clamps his legs together. “Sylvain, I—” 

“I’m sorry, Claude,” Sylvain flusteredly says, scooting off the bed. “I didn’t mean to impose. I’ll see you tomorrow morning. Thanks for letting me hide!” 

Claude reaches out in a poor attempt to stop him, but he’s gone. He frowns, sinking into his bed. He buries his face in the pillow, willing away the scene that keeps replaying in his head. The feeling of Sylvain’s hands, his smooth lips, the feeling of not being lonely— 

Five years is a long time to be lonely. 

Did Sylvain really want to kiss him, or was it just the wine? Claude buries himself under his sheets, trying to focus on anything other than the remnants of Sylvain’s touch on his skin. He hopes he can face Sylvain tomorrow. This was a mistake. Everything was a mistake. 

-

Sylvain purposely avoids eye contact. Claude knows it. When he’s in his direct line of sight, he looks elsewhere. It stings, sends needles straight into his chest. He should have known better. 

“Claude!” 

He looks up from where he’s sulking. His eyes have been fixated on the table for a while now. “Hey, Hilda.” 

“You look down. Frowning is so bad for your face.” Claude laughs, but his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Hilda furrows her eyebrows. “What’s got you down? Tell good ol’ Hilda.” 

Claude leans back in his chair. Hilda leans on the table, ready to listen. “I just. I don’t know, Hilda. I pretty much got rejected, so I’m not having a great time right now.” 

Hilda pats the top of his head. “You win some, you lose some. Don’t let one person get you down. Try to fuck someone else and see if it helps.” 

Claude highly doubts it would help. He stares at the ground, sighing. He wants one dick and one dick only. Unfortunately, it’s a very unattainable one. He fears he may have ruined his friendship with Sylvain. 

“It’ll be okay, Claude. I’m sure Sylvain will come around.” 

Claude’s head snaps up. “Excuse me?” 

Hilda winks, “I know everything. See you, boo!” 

Claude is definitely going to have to talk to her about that later. For now, he heads to the library, looking to do more research on the herb that’s still sitting atop the desk in his room. 

He wants to get this potion over with. Every time he looks at it, he’s reminded. It remains a dull ache in his chest. 

He can barely focus, but searches countless encyclopedias, unable to find what he seeks. 

“Looking for this?” 

Claude visibly flinches at the sound. He takes a deep breath before turning around. Sylvain waves a page, clearly ripped out of a book. Claude grumbles, “I don’t need it.” 

He walks past Sylvain, who grabs him by the wrist. “Wait.” Claude huffs, staring up at him. “I’m sorry, Claude. I know I made a mistake, but I’m hoping you could forgive me?” 

A _mistake_. The word makes Claude’s stomach twist. That’s what it was. A mistake. “Sure, Sylvain. We’re good.” He squeezes his eyes shut as Sylvain hugs him, inhaling the fresh scent of soap in the crook of his neck. Claude tries not to dwell on it. Sylvain hands him the paper in his hand. It’s the page Claude has been searching for. “You ripped this out of an encyclopedia? You are absolutely insane.” 

Sylvain laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, ah, since you had that rash I wanted to give you the page. It does say a rash can be a side effect. I don’t know how to help it, though.” 

“Thanks. But don’t be ripping pages out, alright?” 

Blushing brightly, Sylvain nods. Claude recalls the sweetness on his tongue, his body heat, his hand in his hair. He wills the thoughts away, desperate to overcome them. “I’ll see you later, Sylvain. I’m going to start on this.” 

-

The potion turns out to be much more difficult than he had thought. He doesn’t have much of the herb, and can’t afford to keep wasting it and failing. The gloves he’s wearing do little to mask his hands. He can imagine they’re red by now, tingling. 

The knock on his door has him jumping and almost knocking his most recent vial over. “Come in,” he calls out, knowing he forgot to lock it earlier. 

“Wow. That smells super sweet.” 

Claude glances at Sylvain, who plops down on his bed. “I’ve been inhaling these damn fumes for the past hour and a half so, be grateful. I might pass out from it.” 

Sylvain hums, observing his current state. “You’re like...drenched in sweat.” 

Claude releases an uncomfortable grunt, wiping at his stubble with the back of his hand, “Yes, well. Apparently I’m highly reactive to this stuff and it’s not doing me any favors being hunched over it for hours at a time. My hands are on _fire_, Sylvain. It’s very unpleasant.” He wants nothing more than to strip down and get on top of Sylvain, right this moment. He wants Sylvain’s hands all over him, on his hips, on his thighs, on his _neck. _He’d give anything to have Sylvain’s hands wrap around his neck and squeeze until he spills all over himself. 

Sylvain’s voice sounds so far away as he calls out his name. Claude’s gripping his desk so hard, his irritated hands scream in pain. He can’t think properly anymore. He’s going to have to stop this for now. 

“Claude.” Sylvain touches his shoulder and Claude hops out of his chair. 

“Sylvain, you have to go. I’m sorry but, I need you to leave.” 

Claude begins to shove him toward the door, about to start hyperventilating. He is absolutely drenched. As he’s getting pushed, Sylvain dumbly asks, “Do you need help?” 

Claude frowns, staring up at him in the doorway. “It’s nothing you can help with, Sylvain. Goodnight.” He slams the door in his face, turning the lock, and rids himself of his clothes on the spot. His entire body is flushed, and just as he expected, his palms are an angry red. 

He’s soaked through his briefs, so hard it’s almost painful to touch. Claude throws himself into bed, shoving his underwear around his thighs and whimpering, working his fist over his dick, slick and desperate. How he wishes Sylvain could help. It aches in his chest, how badly he wants him. Sylvain has no idea, and that’s the worst part. 

Claude’s cock drips onto the sheets, steadily leaking, and he’s positive it’s from inhaling those fumes. He closes his eyes and flicks his wrist, wondering how good Sylvain is in bed. He sleeps with a fair amount of people, he’s probably great. Claude would bet anything that Sylvain would probably give him the best orgasm of his life. He works his fist faster, searching desperately for release, pink and wet and_ throbbing_. 

Unfortunately, release doesn’t come to him when it should. He strokes himself until his body shakes, and his toes curl. Except, he’s still completely hard. It felt like he came, but he didn’t really. 

No. Oh no. 

Tears well up in his eyes. What an awful feeling, anxiety twisting and turning in his gut. He swipes his fingers over the slit, more precome dripping onto his bed. He’s going to have to wash these sheets. He reaches down under the mattress, grabbing the vial he keeps there. He slicks his fingers with oil, propping himself up on his knees, face buried in the pillow. 

Claude is not gentle with himself. He has never been, has gotten even rougher over the years. He shoves two fingers into himself, gasping into the pillow, feeling beads of sweat trail over his nipples, sensitive. He _wants_. He wants Sylvain, shoved into him as deep as he can go. He wants to feel him for days after, have marks to tell the story. He wants Sylvain to absolutely wreck him, raw him until he’s sobbing, come dripping down the backs of his thighs. 

His hands hurt so badly, but he’s still impossibly hard. He presses his fingers in, hitting the spot that has him whining, a gush of precome spilling from his dick. The pillow makes it harder for him to breathe, his lungs burning. He uses his free hand to stroke himself, leaving no choice but to shove his face further into the pillow. 

It’s not fair. He wants to know if Sylvain feels the same, or if he truly thinks of Claude as just a friend, thinks of their drunken kiss as an error in judgement. 

He’s a mess, entire body slick with sweat. His fingers glide over the head of his cock, sticky. He keeps hitting the spot in himself that has his entire body shuddering uncontrollably. His moans become louder, muffled by the pillow, wet with spit. He thinks of Sylvain’s mess of red hair between his thighs, sucking him off until Claude’s overstimulated and crying. Claude hiccups into his pillow, trembling, turning his head to gasp for air. He wishes Sylvain were here, wanted so badly to tell him to stay. 

Claude’s shoving four fingers into himself roughly. It’s a challenging angle, proving difficult to maintain, but he wants nothing more. He wants the stretch, dreams of how big Sylvain’s dick is. Long blond hair flashes with red. Taller than him, covering him, _wrecking_ him. He wonders if Sylvain and Dimitri would both fit— 

His hand cramps, forcing him to remove it. He fists it in the sheets instead, other hand still wrapped tightly around his dick, tighter than ever. The burning in his belly absolutely explodes, come spurting into the bed, his body tensing up so hard he swears he pulled something in his leg. 

He pants heavily, tingling all over. His chest burns, lungs scorched from the strain. He lies in his own mess, feeling his dick start to gain interest once more. This stuff is a nightmare— 

He can’t help the pathetic noises that spill from his throat every time he shifts on the bed. He hopes Felix can’t hear him. Every creak of his bed sends anxiety trickling down his spine. He doesn’t even know what time it is, just knows it’s extremely late. 

Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem like he’ll be able to actually sleep any time soon. The scent of the potion lingers in his room, no doubt increasing the length of his effects. His dick is leaking once more, and he wonders how he can even produce this much. 

He hears a door slam shut, his muscles going taut. Dimitri. He was out quite late. 

He wonders what Sylvain is doing, if he’s sleeping, or if he has his fist wrapped around his cock just as Claude does. Claude turns, his sweat-slicked side being exposed to the air, making him shudder. “Fuck. _Fuck_.” His dick is rubbed raw, sensitive and a deep pink. But he can’t stop now, not when it feels this _good_. 

He thinks of what would happen if Felix heard him. Endless embarrassment, he’s sure, but his fantasies like to paint a better picture, one where Felix would bend him over the nearest surface and fuck him until he’s reduced to a puddle. 

His mind wanders back to where he started. He imagines Sylvain getting him off in the library, under a table that hides absolutely nothing, leaving him exposed. His cock pulses with each thought, driving him insane. There’s no way anyone would _want_ to use this herb for anything that isn’t evil. Why Sylvain wants it is beyond him. 

Nonetheless, he pictures Sylvain, in the same state he’s currently in. Dripping sweat, precome leaking steadily from his cock, cheeks flushed a delicious shade of red. Claude, sitting on his hips, sinking down onto his dick, filling him up so _perfectly—_

It doesn’t take him nearly as long this time, come spilling onto his soiled sheets. He takes time to catch his breath, feeling himself coming down. He’s still tingling, could probably go again, but he’s satiated enough to actually sleep. His leg aches—he definitely pulled something earlier. He strips his bed, dropping the soaked sheets onto the floor. He’ll have to sleep without them tonight. 

-

Claude hisses, “Get this out of my sight. I can’t work on it anymore, Sylvain.” He shoves the small vial into Sylvain’s hands. Once again, Claude’s covered in sweat. He didn’t manage to make a large batch, but the herb is extremely potent in small doses. 

Sylvain stares at the vial curiously, sloshing the light blue liquid around. “Thanks, Claude. I knew I could count on you.” 

“I’m allergicto it, Sylvain. The smell is going to stay here for _days_. Don’t ask me to do it again.” Of course, like Claude’s worst nightmare, Sylvain takes a sip of it, right in front of him. “Oh. Fuck no,” Claude whispers, horrified. “Sylvain, you have to go to your room _right now_.” 

Sylvain’s cheeks turn a bright red within seconds. “Shit, I guess it really is no joke.” He laughs, and Claude finds absolutely nothing funny about this situation. “I guess we’re on the same boat, huh?” 

Claude wants to jump him. He wants to climb Sylvain like a damn _tree_ and— 

Sylvain’s fingertips brush his lips, short-circuiting his thoughts. “Claude, I...I want to kiss you again.” 

“Sylvain, I refuse to be another mistake so, just go to your room. Please.” Claude backs away, but Sylvain grabs his wrist. It sends a shock up his arm. It’s dangerous for him to be this close. Claude wants him so badly. 

“No. Fuck. I mean, listen. It wasn’t a mistake. I felt _awful_ for taking advantage of you—” 

“I kissed you back, you idiot!” 

Sylvain simply blinks at him for a moment. “Huh. I guess you did.” 

Claude squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, willing away the urge to cry. “Don’t try to mess with me, Sylvain. I can’t handle it.” He’s too old for these games, his heart too fragile. He opens his eyes once more, but Sylvain’s lips attach themselves to his. 

Sylvain’s fingers make their way into his hair, holding him steady, his tongue doing things that even Claude’s dreams never thought up. He’s sweet, and Claude recalls the wine, only this is sickeningly sweet. His taste, his breath, his scent. Saccharine, dripping from his body. Claude could eat him up. 

His back hits the bed a little too hard, and Sylvain’s lips attach themselves to his neck, biting. “Shit, Claude, I’ve wanted you for so long.” 

Claude briefly wonders if this is just a really intense dream. But then, Sylvain’s yanking his clothes off, and he _knows_ it has to be real. “Fuck. Sylvain, fuck me.” 

“That’s the plan, hot stuff.” He kisses a line down Claude’s chest, nosing along the curly hairs there, fingers sliding over his nipples. He gets his fist around Claude’s dick, and Claude thinks he could shoot right there. Sylvain licks a stripe up the length, lapping up the precome that leaks from the slit. 

Claude doesn’t think he can take this. Sylvain takes him into his mouth, and Claude shudders, fisting his hands in his hair. He sucks and licks every spot that sends him into a frenzy. Goddess, he wants to do the same to him, wants Sylvain’s cock so far down his throat he can feel it in his belly— 

Sylvain pulls off of his cock, spit coating his chin and neck, breathing harshly through his nose. “Fuck, that’s hot.” He undoes his belt, and Claude is absolutely horrified by the fact that he just said all of that out loud. “Are you just talking, or are you going to put your money where your mouth is?” 

Any shame Claude might have had gets thrown out the window the second he lays his eyes on Sylvain’s dick. It’s just as he predicted, only _better_. He gazes at all of the new skin in front of him. Sure, he’s seen Sylvain without a shirt on, having known him for so long, but this is different. 

This is Sylvain, droplets of sweat sliding across his flushed chest, his cock mere inches from Claude’s face, practically drooling in anticipation. He shoves him down, ready to bury his head in his lap. Claude’s mouth is watering uncontrollably. 

He wastes no more time, taking him into his mouth. Claude knows the potion is making him sweeter than he normally would be, but it’s not any less arousing. It’s an absolute _dream, _Claude thinks, nectar on his tongue. Sylvain’s stretching his mouth so well, he can’t imagine how nice it’ll feel in him. Sylvain grabs two fistfuls of his hair, dragging him down onto his cock. Claude gasps for air, feeling it go past the back of his throat, nose buried in coarse red curls. 

Sylvain suddenly pulls him up. “Fuck, Claude I’m so sorry.” 

“More,” Claude rasps. 

“Huh?” 

“I said _more.”_

Sylvain gets it. He gently runs his fingertips over Claude’s facial hair, before smearing precome over Claude’s lips, teasing him, still holding his hair tightly in one hand. “Open wide, sugar.” 

The endearment sends heat straight to his dick. Claude wraps a hand around himself, head spinning at every sensation coursing through him. He keeps himself at a steady pace, staying in sync with Sylvain. He feels so full already, mouth stretched to its limit. Sylvain mumbles praises, shoving his head down all the way and pulling him back up. Claude feels filthy, letting Sylvain use his mouth as he sees fit. 

He wouldn’t want it any other way. 

Claude’s whole body feels like it’s overloading. He feels like he’s going to explode. This is way more than what he’s been doing the past few days. 

Sylvain groans, “I want to fuck you so hard you’ll think of me every time you sit down.” 

Claude forces his head back up, crawling onto Sylvain’s lap, “Please,” he breathes. Sylvain grabs two handfuls of his ass, dragging his fingers over his hole. 

“You’re wet,” Sylvain says, almost accusingly. 

“Yeah, well. I had no one but my left and right hand to help me out, here.” It’s been four days since he started working on the potion. It’s been rough. 

Sylvain chuckles, pushing a finger in easily. “Think you can handle it?” He asks, teasingly. 

“Try me,” Claude bites back. 

Sylvain lays him flat on his back, situating himself between his spread thighs. “This is a good look for you,” he tells him. “You should spread your legs for me more often.” 

Claude retorts, “Keep it up and I just might.” Sylvain grins, running a hand through his sweaty hair. He rubs his thumb over Claude’s entrance, pushing in slightly. Claude hisses, “Stop teasing me, that shit has me on edge.” He shoves his half-used vial into Sylvain’s hand, still slippery with oil. 

“Where’s the fun if I don’t?” 

The look Claude gives him is enough to make him laugh, but he complies with his request anyway. Claude’s chest tightens, watching Sylvain slick his fingers. He wants him as deep as he can get him. 

Sylvain slips two into him easily, met with little resistance. He asks, “How many fingers do you fuck yourself with, huh? How many to get you off?” 

“Four,” Claude gasps, throwing an arm over his eyes. “Just fuck me,” he shamelessly says, beyond embarrassment. 

Sylvain ignores him, slipping three fingers into him, curling them up. Claude cries out, bucking his hips. Sylvain grabs him by the thighs, pulling him close. He mumbles something about lack of protection. 

“It doesn’t matter, just hurry up and do it,” Claude practically growls. He wants all of him, and he wants it _now._

“Pushy,” Sylvain says, shoving into him all at once. 

It’s a lot—Claude couldn’t have possibly imagined being this full. Sylvain closes his fist around Claude’s dick, pulling out almost all the way, only to slam back in. 

Claude whines, high in his throat. He grips the sheets, legs tight around Sylvain’s waist. Every part of him that’s making contact with Sylvain is on _fire._ It’s so much better than every wet dream he’s ever had, thick and hot and perfect. Sylvain doesn’t fuck him gently, having to hold Claude’s hips so he doesn’t slip away from the force of his thrusts. “Sylvain,” he breathes, throat scratchy and dry. 

He grabs one of the hands on his hips, tugging it toward him. Sylvain leans down, eyes darker than ever as he curls his hand around Claude’s neck. Claude nods once, and Sylvain presses into his skin. It’s not enough to completely cut off his air flow, but it’s just enough to give him the edge he craves. Sylvain slams into him roughly, keeping a firm grip around Claude’s neck, Claude’s head swims, every single feeling in his body intensified. 

Sylvain snaps his hips, bringing himself even closer. “Fuck, Claude. You look incredible.” 

Claude whines, arching up into him, feeling like he’s floating. Floating above all else, nothing else exists except him and Sylvain, right now. Sylvain releases his neck, letting a rush of air invade his lungs. Claude coughs, overwhelmed, quickly getting his fist around himself, a mess of come spilling over his belly. 

“That was so hot,” Sylvain whispers, briefly running a hand through Claude’s hair. He pulls out, and Claude is about to protest, but he flips him onto his stomach, forcing his hips back onto his cock. 

“Oh, shit. It’s—” 

Claude wheezes into the pillow, feeling Sylvain’s hand pressing on his lower back. “What is it?” Sylvain persists. 

He chokes, “It’s so deep—” 

“Dammit, Claude.” Sylvain slows for a moment, breath hitching. Claude pushes back, wiggling his hips, feeling come drip down the insides of his thighs. Sylvain moves yet again, reaching forward, grabbing Claude’s neck once more. He pulls him back, thrusting harder than before. Claude barely has time to inhale, much less time to think about anything other than how deep Sylvain’s dick is reaching, the best stretch he’s had in his life. 

He’s on the edge already, desperation itching under his skin. He never wants Sylvain to let go of him—he doesn’t think he could ever recover from this, anyway. Claude’s head drops back to the pillow as Sylvain releases his neck, nails digging into his hips to keep him steady. He can feel sweat dripping down the side of his face, his hair plastered to his head. 

Sliding his hand around Claude’s hip, Sylvain grabs his cock, pulsing in his palm. “You gonna come again already?” Sylvain teases. Claude doesn’t respond verbally, mind too blurry to form words. He simply thrusts into Sylvain’s hand, twitching as he gets closer. “Come,” Sylvain breathes, twisting his fist and swiping his fingers over the slit. 

Claude’s entire body shudders, his nails ripping small holes in the sheets as he sobs into the pillow, throat raw as he inhales. 

Sylvain presses himself against Claude’s back, lips on the nape of his neck. He bites down on the curve of his shoulder, teeth imprinting on his skin. Everything is so hot, Claude can’t think straight. He doesn’t know how long it takes for Sylvain to come again, spilling inside of him. 

Like before, Claude’s skin tingles. He swears he still feels every spot where Sylvain touched him, branded him. Sylvain moves, and Claude drops onto his bed, unable to hold himself up any longer. Sylvain sits beside him, breathing unevenly, carding his fingers through Claude’s soaked hair. He leans into him, sliding down on the bed, grabbing Claude’s chin and kissing him deeply. 

Claude feels like everything is spiraling, dizzy. He kisses Sylvain with fervor, desperate to have more of him. He doesn’t want Sylvain to leave, doesn’t want his warmth to fade. Sylvain’s sugar kiss stays with him, even when he pulls away, Claude tastes sweetness on his tongue. He thinks the taste will haunt him. 

“Wow,” Sylvain says, splaying himself out on the small bed, leg crossed over Claude’s ankle. “It’s about time we quit dancing in circles around each other, huh? All we needed was five damn years.” 

Claude blinks sleepily at him. He nods, humming. He definitely worked himself to his limit. He scoots closer, getting comfortable against Sylvain’s chest. He feels absolutely disgusting, wet and sticky. It’s incredible. “Don’t make me ever have to touch that herb again,” Claude softly rasps. 

Sylvain laughs into his hair, “I don’t think I’m ever going to need it again if the sex is normally that good.” 

Claude mumbles something about Sylvain being a brat. In retaliation, Sylvain bites at his neck, already sore from earlier. Claude digs his nails into Sylvain’s chest, scraping his flushed skin, leaving angry red marks in their wake. 

He wants to stay beside him, wants Sylvain to stay until morning. 

Sylvain awkwardly asks, “Do you want to, uh, strip the bed down? Or go to my room?” 

Claude begins to peel the sheets from the corners of the mattress. Sylvain manages to grab the rest of it, throwing it all to the floor. The mattress is damp as well, but Claude chooses to ignore it. 

Sylvain pulls him close, lips against his forehead. Claude curls up to him, sweat still cooling on his skin, sleep getting the best of him. 

-

Claude vaguely recalls Sylvain getting up in the early morning, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to his lips and tell him he has to get ready for training with Felix. Always an early riser. 

He sits up, feeling a layer of filth on his entire body. A shower would do him good. When he stands, his thighs shake, and his bones crack. A difficult battle never even made him this sore. He slips his night clothes on, simple baggy clothing, and gathers his armor for after his shower. 

The morning goes by smoothly, a little too smoothly. He remains suspicious. 

“Claude.” He turns, having to look up to face Dimitri. His blond hair falls over his eyepatch, messy on his head. “I must say, I do not mind what, or who, you choose to do in your free time. But please, don’t let it sink through the walls.” 

His words set Claude’s cheeks aflame. If Dimitri could hear it, then he’s certain Felix could, as well. He’s sure Sylvain got an earful. 

“I’m so sorry. Shit, I really couldn’t fucking think straight.” 

Dimitri snorts, but his face is flushed. He awkwardly tucks his hair behind his ear. Claude stares at the sliver of skin between his jaw and his armor, and wonders if the scent of the potion slid under his door. Dimitri asks, “Were you heading to the training grounds?” Claude knows very well how quick he is to change the subject when he’s uncomfortable. 

“I was. Care to join me?” 

Dimitri nods, “I was heading there myself.” 

Claude’s legs ache with every step. He doesn’t know how much training he’ll be able to handle, but he longs for more of Sylvain’s touch. 

He looks forward to seeing him, forward to the honey that will drip over his lips, to the hands that will burn their way into his heart. He has a lot to give, glad that he finally has a chance to share it. 

Perhaps when the sun sets, he can fall into his embrace once more. 

**Author's Note:**

> this was,,, so chaotic for me, i wrote it all in less than a day LMAO also yeah dont mention the fact its post timeskip and the war isn't mentioned okay i just love their timeskip designs RIP


End file.
